Going to Grandma's house was always a fun time. My Grandma, known as the Cookie Jar Grandma because she always let us get cookies from her cookie jar lived in what to us was another time and place. She lived on a farm with chickens, cows, a barn full of hay and heated and cooked with wood. Now today I think of these things as chores, but when 8 years old we would fight for the right to bring in the wood or go gather the eggs. It seemed to us a magical time, we would hike through the fields wondering if that cow was just a cud chewing bovine that would ignore us, or a vicious bull getting ready to charge. Looking back, never was I charged by a bull...BUT my cousins were not so lucky. One day they were chased after teasing the biggest, meanest, toughest bull on the farm. Freedom was ours when visiting Grandma, we played to abandon, we climbed through the hay barn, ran through the fields and jumped on the beds. I am sure Grandma loved to see us go as much as she loved to see us come, but we were always welcome at this magical place.
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